


the blood is gone; the bloom remains

by sleepytea (vogelbiene)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogelbiene/pseuds/sleepytea
Summary: The corpses of those with hanahaki disease are acclaimed to be grotesquely beautiful. The corpse beside Felix isn't beautiful at all. It's the remnants of stupidity, of stubbornness - both of which Sylvain was.Sylvain neglects the garden in his chest.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 82





	the blood is gone; the bloom remains

_ His chest rises. _

The rib cage pokes out of the ground grotesquely, bleached by the sun and the ever-falling snow. There are no remains around the bones; no fur, no skin, no meat. It has been picked clean by scavengers, so there really wasn't any reason to examine it. But it piqued Sylvain's curiosity enough for him to crawl towards it.

_ His chest falls. _

Up close, the bones were nothing special. They weren't of a rare creature nor did they hold and oddities. What they  _ did _ have, however, was the tiniest glimpse of green among white. Underneath the bones, the snow, the sun, was a sprout. It seemed to be thriving even through the winter - almost impossible, given how bone-chilling cold it was. But it was there, happily glancing up at Sylvain and whispering his name.  _ Come closer, come closer,  _ it says, slowly winding itself around one of the ribs. And so he does, bracing himself on his knees and watching leaves turn into buds, which turn into petite flowers. They were red, and they were spreading.

_ His chest stutters, a hitch in his breath. _

The vines had encased the entire rib cage now, but the growing hadn't stopped. Greenery wrapped itself around Sylvain's wrists, pinning him to the spot. He couldn't move. Vines decorated his arms, then his chest, and finally his throat. He can't pull away, can't rip himself out of the plant. It chokes him.

_ His chest stills. _

* * *

Coughing up flowers wasn't the exact definition of a fun night out, but it certainly did stop Sylvain from doing anything stupid. 

With only the candlelight of the house next door over, Sylvain emptied his lungs onto the pavement in front of him. The red carnations had plagued him for two months now, blooms only getting larger and harder to expel as the weeks went by. He couldn't even look at the mess of petals at his feet, couldn't even gain the strength to push them out of sight with his foot. 

The problem with absurd amounts of coughing was the weakness that followed suit. Knees buckling underneath him, Sylvain caved into the need for rest. Celebration be damned; he needn't be seen in such a run-down state. That would only raise questions, ones that he would rather not answer. 

Gathering himself enough to brush off the wilting petals from his suede attire, Sylvain stood, bracing himself against the fence next to him. Ah, what he must look like to the innocent passer-by; blood smeared across his cheek and chin, eyes puffy from the involuntary tears, hair disheveled from running his fingers through it. A real sight for sore eyes even if he does say so himself. 

Sylvain moves to leave, to excuse himself from the party and to relax in his rented room, but the Felix-shaped figure standing at the end of the alleyway stops him. The mere  _ thought _ of his friend begins to push petals up the back of his throat and goddess does he wish the stupid illness would take him already. Get it over with, rid the others of the burden that he was. 

"What are you doing?" Felix asks, voice stern as always (but Sylvain could sense the underlying concern). 

"Just getting some air." He replies with smoothly, voice rough. "Too much alcohol, y'know?"

Felix narrows his eyes - it's obvious that he doesn't believe Sylvain's bullshit excuse, but he seems to drop it. Sylvain grins at him until he notices Felix's eyes drop to the pile of blood and petals. The grin fades.

He rushes an "I can explain-" just as Felix asks "what the fuck is this?" His gaze drifts to his feet, refusing to look his friend in the eyes. It was quite obvious what it was and what it meant, but Sylvain wasn't ready to verbalise it. Not yet.

"How long?" Silence. "Sylvain,  _ how long? _ "

His immediate answer was  _ long enough _ , but the words clung to his throat. Long enough for the petals to wither, long enough to know that there was irreplaceable damage to both his lungs and his heart. So he lies, as he was programmed to do, with a wry smile and a soft sigh. "A week now, Felix. A week."

And he could tell by the minute twitch in his face that Felix believed none of it, but some selfish part of him hoped that he would leave it and in turn leave  _ him _ . Having the recipient of his unrequited love close to him only brought more flowers and the last thing Sylvain wanted was for Felix to see just how close to death he was. 

Felix seemed to stew on his words, brows furrowed and jaw clenched, staying silent and looking at the wall. Was he about to call Sylvain out on his bullshit? Say that he had it coming? Storm off in anger?

"You're in no state to go back to the bar," he says eventually, cutting through the tension. "I'll help you get back to your room." 

Sylvain bit his lip. This could go two ways and both were unfavourable; refuse Felix's help and cop the brunt of his stubborn attitude and obvious frustration, or take the offer and spew flowers along the way. He chooses the latter. 

"Alright, but don't get angry if I cough you up a bouquet." The joke managed to earn a glare from Felix, obviously unimpressed by the light spin Sylvain tried to put on the situation. He moves to wrap Sylvain's arm around his shoulders nonetheless, taking another quick look at the mess of withered blooms. Sylvain notes the look of disgust and pushes down the nausea that comes from it.

"Guide me then, o strong one." he says, though it ends with a hoarse cough. 

"Shut up and walk." 

* * *

Sylvain wakes with blood on his tongue and petals spilling out of his mouth. There were more flowers than the previous morning and Sylvain panics. He supposes that the very end of hanahaki was always known to progress faster than the start, but the knowledge still scared him. Was his last breath only days away? 

He moves to untangle himself from the covers, coming to a halt as he realised there was a body next to him. A sleeping body who was on the edge of the bed and easily woken, who made Sylvain gag on the flowers creeping up his trachea. Just  _ how _ Sylvain forgot Felix was camping in the same bed as him was perplexing, but he shook off the confusion in favour of trying to slide his way down the mattress and off of the bed. Though, his efforts were in vain; a particularly nasty cough rattled through his chest and had Sylvain clutching his chest, leaning over and spitting the flowers onto the blanket. He tried to move his way to the edge again, but was stopped by the almost constant coughing now. Tears were building in the corners of his eyes and his vision was weak, but the flowers refused to let up. Sylvain vaguely registered the palm hitting his back and the iron grip on his arm as the last of the petals fell out of his mouth and onto his lap. He was tired. So, so tired. 

He leans into the warm body beside him, closing his eyes and trying to regain the oxygen lost. "I hate this, Fe. I really do." he whispers, voice all but lost. "I know." was the only response he got. 

Felix guides him back into the covers, brushing off the flowers and stems onto the floor. Sylvain half expected him to leave, but Felix only lay back down next to him, fingers threading themselves through his hair. It was tender - too tender for him. But he knew it was the only thing Felix knew how to do; the only way to calm Sylvain down. There was no real substance behind it, but his heart still ached beyond words. 

Felix doesn't mention the silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

* * *

The corpses of those with hanahaki disease are acclaimed to be grotesquely beautiful. The corpse beside Felix isn't beautiful at all. It's the remnants of stupidity, of stubbornness - both of which Sylvain was. 

Felix holds a cold hand, gripping it as though it were his lifeline, and listens to the beginnings of a bird's song outside the window. He wouldn't cry - not yet, not until he's home and away from pitiful looks and meaningless condolences - but he'll stay with Sylvain (Sylvain's  _ body _ , he has to remind himself) and pretend that his friend hadn't died for something as meager as unrequited love. And if he was found by Ingrid, still curled around Sylvain and trembling with unshed tears, the beginnings of an incurable cough ripping through his body - so be it.

This time, he'll allow himself to mourn. This time, he'll attend to the garden inside of him.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote literally all of this at ungodly hours of the morning and have not proofread. i don't plan to. maybe one day, when I'm not embarrassed by my own writing! ily thank you for reading ♡♡


End file.
